Criticism of Authority
by waywardblue
Summary: Severus Snape is a deeply important yet hugely neglected double agent in one of the greatest wizarding wars in Magical History. Hermione Granger can't stand the injustice behind his treatment. What happens when the aftermath of a recently cast cruciatus curse troubles the Potions Master during class time?
1. Chapter 1

A partially prompt inspired Snamione Ficlett. There is a potential to expand upon this and turn it into a longer chaptered fic.  
But we'll see how this first part goes over first. Reviews are deeply appreciated..

**Summary:** _Severus Snape is a deeply important yet hugely neglected double agent in one of the greatest wizarding wars in Magical History. Hermione Granger can't stand the injustice behind his treatment. What happens when the aftermath of a recently cast cruciatus curse troubles the Potions Master during class time?_

**Disclaimer:** _Anything affiliated with JK Rowling and the Harry Potter books and movies are sadly not mine. _  
_I'm just borrowing the world and its characters to play with._

~x~

It was the last class of the day.  
She watched the cauldron in front of her simmer up to a boil and slid a small tray of dittany plants into the concoction.

Harry and Ron were murmuring something inaudible to Neville , but her attention was focused on the Professor.  
She'd seen his arm twitch abnormally one too many times during the short period of time she'd been looking his way.  
If she were to be brutally honest, her heart ached. And she was angry.  
It didn't take a fool to see that he was suffering.  
And on that note, she wondered why he was allowed to suffer the way was, with obviously very little relief, and still be expected to run a classroom.  
His black eyes were sunken, he was doing his best to hide muscle spasms beneath his robes, and he was sitting instead of looming, pretending to mark papers.

She'd become increasingly infuriated with The Order's lack of concern for him over the passing months.  
When he was absent from meetings his name wasn't so much as mentioned. People didn't ask about him unless it was to demand updates or favors.  
Her two closest companions still made scathing comments about "The Bat of the Dungeons" and occasionally brought to question if he was _"really on our side"_.  
The few times she raised her voice to broach the topic herself, she'd been quickly shut down.

_"Severus can handle himself, Hermione"_  
_"This has been on his shoulders for many years Hermione"_  
_"He knows what he's doing Hermione." _

All aged voices that dripped wisdom without having much care for the blatantly obvious. He wasn't okay.  
Who would be okay living the way he lived? Living in fear that any moment his arm would burn and he'd have mere seconds to apparate to the Dark Lord without appearing disobedient.

The irony was that at the moment he was likely more at risk than the Chosen One himself. Harry Potter was safe for now in the comfort of Hogwarts.  
Severus Snape was thrown into Death Eater revels and positioned at the feet of the Dark Lord on a regular basis.  
And if she didn't know any better, she would say that he was suffering the after effects of the particularly vicious cruciatus curse judging by his pained expression and frequent muscle spasms.

There was no respect, there was no consideration, he was given nothing of the things he deserved.  
His double life put him at risk every day, yet people treated him as little more than a pawn that would run out of usefulness sooner rather than later.

She heard a distinct out of place bubbling from behind her and whipped round to see Neville's face burning a bright red as his potion began to glow an unnatural purple in contrast to everyone elses light blue mixture.  
_"A-ah, S-sir?"_  
She'd never heard someone ask for help in such profoundly terrified manner. And rightly so, she thought.

The Potion Master's eyes flicked up violently, his jaw locked in place. His entire demeanour had exuded the fact that today was not a day to bother him.  
If looks could kill she was sure that Neville would be 6 feet under and then some.

"Do you have_ any_ spec of intellect in your veins, Longbottom?" he gritted out as he scraped back his chair and stood stiffly.  
Several of the papers he'd had been fixating on fell to the floor as his robes caught against them.

Harry and Ron exchanged sympathetic glances with their friend while Hermione eyed the potions master worriedly.  
Standing up, his legs were shaking. Not just his legs- his entire body.  
His entire self seemed to vibrate.  
She could tell that his body was one step away from giving out from under him.  
And from the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, she knew that he realized it too.

His hand shakily moved to lean on his desk as he tried to keep himself upright and maintain some façade of control.

Other students had begun looking at one another in confusion at the delayed reaction unfolding before them.  
_Why wasn't he tearing down the Gryffindor boy?_  
_Why wasn't he removing house points?_  
_What's going on?_

She couldn't draw attention to his condition publicly. A teacher suffering from a cruciatus curse would cause outrage if anyone recognized the symptoms and spread the information.  
But more importantly, she couldn't leave her Professor to collapse in front of a bunch of gossip hungry students, most of which she was sure would relish a good look if it was allowed to take place.  
Hermione's eyes darted around looking for a solution to prevent a bad situation from escalating.

Her eyes settled on Neville's failed potion for a brief second as her brain tried to connect a feasible plan to act upon.  
The moment it came together in her head she knew that if she went through with it she would likely either end in detention for the remainder of her school career, or lose the prefect status she'd been so proud to receive at the start of the year.  
But in the end, what was a badge and a title in comparison to the humiliation of a man who had done so much for The Order and the wizarding world but been repaid so little, even in common courtesy?

She took one last look at the struggling man at the front of the room for strength before she stood up, held her prefects badge in her hand and put a convincing arm over her nose  
"The room needs to be evacuated immediately. This is an extremely concentrated Dizziness draught." she announced to her confused peers, pointing accusingly at Neville's botched potion.  
"If inhaled it can cause an awful cases of sickness, fainting, and collapsing._ Do not breathe in the air._"  
"And please return directly to your dormitories, no loitering in the halls. Other classes are still in session!"

Her heart was racing as a murmur of panic began to rise among the students.

Many of them glanced between the Gryffindor Prefect and their Potions Master. Some grabbed their bags and upon seeing no reaction other than a visibly pained expression on the Professor quickly trickled out, while others held their breath for fear of leaving.

"Come on Moine" Ron was tugging at her sleeve and trying to talk through a pinched nose, "We should go"  
"I'll be fine- I need to help dispose of the potion properly and write a prefects report, I'll take care of it, but you need to leave and help everyone out of the dungeons."  
"All of you" she asserted in a louder voice as she watched the last few students run out into the corridor for gasps of air.

"Harry, take Ron and wait for me in the Common Room, I'll be up once I'm finished here. Make sure Neville's okay."  
_Poor Neville. _She felt a small wave of guilt wash over her for using the already anxious boy as a scapegoat.

"Snape's looking a bit peaky." Harry's eyes had shifted to their Professor who was still leaning frozen against his desk, his eyes concentrating on a square of stone on the floor.

"We'll be fine, but you both need to move before you start looking peaky too" she gave him a motivating push on the shoulder.

Hesitantly Harry voiced an affirmative and helped shove his redheaded friend through the door and into the corridor with one last shout of "You're mad you are" thrown in her direction from Ronald.

For once she was thankful that the rest of her classmates viewed her as a goody two shoes know-it-all.  
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she slammed the classroom door shut and locked it before rushing to the Professor's side as he finally fell to his knees beside his desk.  
"What do you think you're doing Granger" he hissed out.  
His voice sounded more like a whisper than it did a venom filled question.

"I just saved you from being humiliated in front of an entire classroom of students, if you want to punish me do it later, but now tell me what you need so we can fix this."

Their eyes clashed stubbornly before he finally slumped down against the leg of his desk in silence, defeated.  
"Should I get Poppy?"  
"No"

He curled over slightly and let out a pained half grunt as he felt his muscles tighten uncomfortably over his bones.

Not knowing what to do with herself she reached out and put her hand on his arm.  
His eyes snapped upwards to look at her but he didn't shrug her off. Either he appreciated the comfort or he was too weak to remove it. She assumed the latter- but at least she had his attention.  
"Tell me what you _need_"

He threw a scowl at her "My rooms. Oscar Wilde"

She paused for a moment in confusion before her mouth twitched upwards as she realized that the famous muggle author must be his portrait's password.

"Can you stand at all?"  
He gave a slight nod and winced at the effort it took to move as she guided his arm around her neck for support.

The journey to his rooms was slow and tedious.  
There was much shuffling and stumbling before she finally settled him into the most comfortable looking chair she could find.  
He was painfully quiet throughout the entire ordeal. She could see self loathing in his face.  
_He was humiliated regardless of her efforts._

"Professor, are there any potions that would help with the pain?"  
"Your presence is no longer required. I am fine where I am." his voice was the type of low growl that promised consequence for disobedience, but the pained quiver beneath it took away from it's harshness.

"No, you just don't want it to be required" she bit back.  
"How dare you-"  
"Everyone else might leave you to your own devices, but I'm not going to stand by and watch this."

He wished he could get up and stride off. He wished he didn't have to look at her glazed over eyes. He wished he could grab her by the arm and throw her out of his rooms. He was fuming.  
_Arrogant, interfering, Gryffindor chit.  
Another charity case to add to her collection with the house elves.  
_He threw a piercing look her way._  
_  
The moment he could speak in full sentences without the risk of his vocal chords giving up on him he'd be sure to send her wailing all the way back up to her dormitory. Victimized by the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons.

It took all the effort he could muster to turn his face away from hers.  
There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence for several minutes where neither of them said anything.

But then there was a hand on his upper arm, pressing.  
Thin fingers worked their way over his tightened muscles.  
To his dismay he let out an audible breath of relief and he could almost feel her smile of satisfaction in the air.

The girl was trying to massage out the aftermath of a cruciatus curse from his body.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"  
"Helping"  
"This is entirely inappropriate"  
"You're not giving me any better alternative."

She continued.  
At first he tried to freeze a scowl into his features.  
But she could feel his muscles unwinding under her fingertips.  
And as reluctant as he was to admit it, her small touches were giving him a small but blessed amount of relief.  
The irony that the after effects of the Dark Lords curse was being countered by a muggle method of relaxation wasn't lost on him.

She found her way down the rest of his arm, and then his hands.  
And then she pressed his palms and went all the way up each of his finger tips, relieving each digit of pain one at a time.  
By time she'd repeated her movements on his other arm, she noticed he'd let his eyelids slide shut and that his facial expression was no longer concentrated on maintaining a dreadful frown.  
He wasn't sleeping, he was just _feeling._  
And he continued to feel as she got on her knees in front of him and began untying his laces.  
She cast aside his hard boots and began massaging the soles of his feet and ankles. Soon he was twitching in a way that she suspected was due to being ticklish rather than being in pain.  
Severus Snape was had ticklish feet, who would have known?

She pressed her hands all the way up his calves.  
Her fingers had gone from healing presses to lingering strokes- she had no idea when one had merged into the other.  
She focused on the feel of his fabric rustling against her fingers. The warmth of his skin that radiated through to her attentive hands. He smelt like fresh crisp cotton, grass, and the pages of old books all at once. She felt her lungs inhale and exhale in pleasure as she worked her fingers through the knots in his muscles.

She wondered how many scars he'd suffered over the years.  
How many times he'd returned to Hogwarts and collapsed in agony due to a bad night with his second master.  
How many times had he crumpled up at night like a beaten child and then taken his classes as normal the following morning?  
Her heart gave a sharp pang of a feeling she couldn't place. But it made her want to cry.  
The injustice of it, perhaps.

His breath hitched and she realized that her hands had reached his thighs.  
A pretty pink blush spread over her face, and his eyes were no longer closed but were peering down at her with what appeared to be a strange mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. There was a moment of unspoken understanding between them that held still in the air. She feared that even a breath out of place would break it.

_Dare she continue?_  
Hesitantly she moved her fingers like a whisper up one firm thigh and pressed down in a feather like motion, only to find her wrist caught in a firm grip a mere moment later.  
"No."

It wasn't a no meant to reprimand her. It was void of harshness.  
She lowered her lashes and made to softly tug her wrist away.  
He held it firm.  
"This is not something that can happen."

She wasn't entirely sure how to respond. She wasn't entirely sure she knew what "this" was. He wasn't entirely what "this" was.

"You should return to your dormitory, it's getting late."  
He released her wrist and watched as she lifted herself from her place at his feet.

"Are you feeling well...Sir?"  
"Better."

She pressed down her uniform and awkwardly turned to leave.

"Miss Granger"  
She turned back to see a slight resemblance of the steely classroom professor she was used to.  
"Detention for disrupting my class. Details will follow."

She stood for a moment with her mouth half open before promptly shutting it into a narrow lipped line. She turned on her heels and walked briskly back through the potions classroom and out into the corridor.

She didn't know what had just happened. Well she did. She just didn't know what it meant.  
The further she walked away from the dungeons, the more everything that happened that day just seemed like a surreal blur.

Botched potion left behind, forgotten, and unattended to.

_AN: Let me know what you think~ _


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Just to clarify the timeline- Let's say we're working in The Half Blood Prince time period whilst not following its plot line.  
I'm taking this and running with it where ever it takes me.  
Secondly thank you so much for your reviews. This update wouldn't be happening if not for you.  
It's been so long since I've sat and really concentrated on writing anything, so I really do appreciate all the positive feedback.  
I hope you'll all continue to nudge me onwards. ~squish~

**Edit**: I've received a review concerning the fact that Severus was supposed to be teaching DADA in the Half Blood Prince.  
I'll address this just to avoid any future confusion.  
I'm working in The Half Blood Prince's timeline (ie, Hermione's 6th year at Hogwarts), not with it's plot line.  
I may pinch one or two main aspects from the books, but otherwise this will not be following the same story line as the novels did.  
In this fic Severus Snape is still Potions Master at Hogwarts, and in following the yearly tradition a new DADA Professor has been hired to teach  
(as already mentioned later in this chapter).  
I hope this clears up any doubts.

~x~

* * *

~x~

Severus woke up around dawn in the same position that the Granger girl had left him in late the previous afternoon.  
He sat up stiffly from oversleeping but found his other limbs to be surprisingly cooperative.  
Likely due to the fact he'd finally managed to get some well needed rest- even if it was in a chair rather than a bed.  
Having said that, the pre-sleep attentions given to him had thankfully made the pain bearable enough to sleep through the night, which was a rarity these days with the Dark Lord's increase in temper.

But he wondered, what repercussions would occur from the small ounce of relief he'd been given?  
He wasn't a fool to take things freely, though he was finding it difficult to place a possible ulterior motive.  
What was there left to take from him? What else could _anyone_ possibly ask from him? Especially a 6th year Gryffindor girl.  
He felt his finger nails dig into the fabric of his chair in response to his thought process before getting up and making his way towards his private study.

He knew that Granger wasn't as innocent as she was painted out to be by his coworkers.  
He was entirely aware that it was she who had rummaged through his private store room in her second year of Hogwarts- and he was under no false impression that she had failed to get wiser and more resourceful as the years went on.  
She was likely one of the only students to walk into his dungeons who he could, grudgingly admit, was on the same intellectual level as he was when he attended Hogwarts.  
She had the same bookish nature, the same vigor for studies.  
The only difference was that she had friends- and good Lord, she was infuriating.  
The fact that she walked and talked with The Boy Who Lived only gave greater fuel to the fire of suspicion.

But he had more pressing matters to attend to than that particular muggle born female.  
Rather, he had several muggle born men and women who's lives were in jeopardy. The Dark Lord was frustrated.  
He felt things were going too slow, he felt like he hadn't had a true "win" in a while.  
His Death Eaters ran wild raping and killing and maiming, but that wasn't his real agenda. That was just play for his sadistic followers.  
His second Master enjoyed torture and pain, without a doubt - but his interests were political. And they weren't moving forward.  
There was death with no result.

But now he had a list.  
A list with the names of some known muggle born witches and wizards from Hogwarts, likely collected via the gossip of Death Eaters children.  
9 children were named. Children that he'd taught and watched grow.  
It had apparently taken some digging to find the many non magical households, but it had been done.  
It was all prepared.  
All they had to do was wait and strike.

Most of his Slytherins talked a big talk, but underneath the self importance and the superiority complex, most of them were as scared as anyone else.  
Perhaps more so. Many of them would have an initiation before the year was out and refusal was not an option.  
He wondered how many of his students had unknowingly signed a death warrant for their peers for the sake of arrogant chatter in the wrong company.

The message the Dark Lord intended to send was simple.  
_ "Magic for Magical Beings"_.  
And this message would be sent out in the blood of dead children. The condition was that muggle borns should either cease magical education and high status wizarding positions voluntarily and admit inferiority, or face expulsion from suchpositions by force.  
He looked to break down the education systems and the ministry first. Once he had those he had everything.

It didn't take much thinking to reveal the main culprit behind the planning.  
Bellatrix Lestrange had sat on the arm of the Dark Lord's chair grinning maniacally and twirling her locks through the entire explanation.  
So that's what you get when you mix poison with poison, he remembered thinking bitterly through his submissive gaze.  
It would have worried him had anyone else excluded him from plotting until so far late in its stages had Bellatrix not been the mastermind behind it.  
He got under her skin, and she would much rather see him tortured or dead than in among the Dark Lord's closest circle.

That was another issue to deal with. He needed to reaffirm the Dark Lords trust in him.  
He'd brought nothing of solid value for the past few months and she could hear the likes of Bellatrix's whispers gain more ground in his eyes.  
He needed to give him _something,_ else it was unlikely he'd be useful for much longer.

Severus had owled Dumbledore the moment he'd returned, but he hadn't expected such a delayed response.  
He hadn't included the details, but when a war spy returns from a summoning with a message that there are things of importance to be discussed, it is more than often a life or death situation.  
He opened his desk drawer sharply and slammed fresh pieces of parchment down on the wood.  
It was far too early in the day to feel so angry. But that was how he operated. Anger. Frustration. Pain. And the rotation continued.  
He took out his quill and scribbled another message of urgency.

It was useless to go to his office anymore. He was barely ever there.  
What the hell the old man could be doing at such a dire moment was beyond him. He had a whole castle of students to shelter and life determining plans to make. Sacrifices were going to have to be made in order to appease the Dark Lord and they had to have a serious think as to what they could stand to lose.

It wasn't a conversation he looked forward to, but one that was essential to have as soon as possible.  
He melted some emerald wax onto an envelope and stamped it with his Head of House Slytherin seal.  
With a sigh he set it to the side so he could take it to the Owlry before breakfast.

He moved to clear the extra parchment away but his thoughts strayed back to the Gryffindor girl he'd threatened with the promise of detention.  
If he were honest it wasn't something he wanted to do. Not for the fact that what she did helped him,  
but rather because he valued his time alone, especially in these hectic times.  
People drained him, and he was surrounded by people who demanded his attention and service.  
But he couldn't be seen to show favoritism- and throwing away the opportunity to condemn a Gryffindor to detention would be seen as such, especially among his Slytherin students. And gossip, it seemed, always found its way to the wrong people.

With that thought in mind, he began to write the details of how she would be spending her Saturday evening with him.  
He would not think about her presses and light touches. Trivial things were not to be lingered on.  
Not now. Not for someone like him.

~x~

* * *

The Great Hall was not where she wanted to be.  
She would have been fully content to miss breakfast in exchange for some extra sleep.  
Dormitory life however was not one which satisfied the need for a long lie-in.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ron was touching her arm with buttery fingers chewing repulsively.

Hermione pushed away her own plate having concluded that she was more than done with breakfast.  
"I'm fine, I was just studying late. Potions."

A more accurate response would have been the fact she had sat in stunned disbelief until the late hours of the night of the things she'd done in her Potions Master's personal rooms.  
She wasn't ashamed of it, but she feared what would come of it in the way of awkwardness and or punishment.  
It was only October, they still had most of the year to get through- and she didn't know if she could stand becoming target number 1 for classroom cruelty.

"We already get enough homework from that git, the one day we don't get an assignment you're sitting up there studying?"  
Ron turned to Harry and nudged him for support.

She threw a glare his way but decided the best response was to say nothing.  
She'd pressed the topic of respect with him more than once.  
At this point she let him indulge in his own ignorance.

Ron caught her bitter look and folded his arms defensively  
"What's the big deal? I bet he's done more than enough to earn it. With He Who Must Not Be Named and all. Git."

Harry knew what lines to toe when it came to Hermione, and most importantly he knew when to stop talking, unfortunately the feeling that told him when to stop was usually triggered by Ron more than himself.  
He merely gave a neutral shrug in response to his friend's jab at Hermione and their Professor and attempted to move the topic on.

"We were just worried about you, with the potion incident and all, Neville was hysterical. We had to give him a calming draught from Poppy"  
She felt a pang of guilt in her chest.

"It wasn't that bad, no one was hurt in the end."

"I wouldn't say that" he continued, " I feel like if Neville ever has to stand in front of Snape again he's going to start hyperventilating until he passes out"

This mornings breakfast was a decidedly horrid experience, she concluded.

An owl flew over the table dropping an envelope in the space her plate had occupied and thus saving her from making any guilt ridden responses on Neville's condition. She felt truly bad, but she didn't know how she could make that casualty better.

"It's from Snape." Ron said leaning in to her shoulder.  
"I can see that." was he always this irritating?  
She broke the seal and unfolded the crisp parchment in front of her.

_"Miss Granger,_  
_Your Detention will commence from 6pm sharp Saturday evening._  
_Also note that your Hogsmede privileges have been revoked for the time being. Disobedience will not be tolerated._

_Severus Snape_  
_Head of Slytherin House"_

She had expected him to follow up on the promise of detention- but revoking her Hogsmede privileges?  
Maybe he was angry at her for interfering. She didn't think things had gone terribly.  
But on that thought, he was definitely not in a condition to retaliate when she last saw him.  
_Did she take advantage of her Professor?_  
The thought made her queasy.  
If _he_ saw it that way then she may as well throw herself in the lake for the giant squid to take care of instead of face him on Saturday.

"That's a bit excessive" Ron murmured.  
"Well I did dismiss his entire class prematurely." _among other things._  
She sighed and folded the parchment into her robes.  
"It can't be helped now"

Harry gave her a sympathetic shoulder squeeze as she got up from the table.  
"We don't have Potions again until tomorrow anyway." he gave her a lopsided smile.

"You guys can keep eating before classes start, I'm going to sit in the library and catch up on some missed reading for a while.  
I'm sure I have some transfiguration homework that's not entirely up to scratch yet."

It seemed like her know-it-all nature reputation was coming in handy a lot these days.  
She didn't intend on any kind of homework, but it was the only time people avoided her for fear she would rope them into some unbreakable study circle .  
And she was in no mood for people.  
Fun and friends seemed like something distant. Her friends acted like nothing much had changed.  
It was just another year at Hogwarts to them. Tedious classes, pretty girls, Hogsmede trips.  
And as per usual they had a new lousy Defence against the Dark Arts teacher.

The truth was that very soon people they knew could die. People they knew would die. They might very well lose each other.

How could they act like it was okay? How could they still laugh?  
There was someone who was in the very Order itself being tortured on a regular weren't they planning?  
And if people _were_ planning why wasn't Harry being informed being that he would be the one to face Voldemort on the battlefield?

The only person she'd seen look as sober as she felt was Professor Snape. And he had been suffering from the cruciatus curse.  
Helping him had felt like the only real worthwhile thing she'd done this year.  
What troubled her was the fact that he had likely dealt with these same effects alone on several occasions, and would likely do so again.  
It was plain luck she was there at the right moment, and he was likely never to make that same mistake again.  
Was she supposed to forget the entire ordeal?

She stood up to leave while Ronald gave her one more dramatic eye roll before she left the Hall. She arched her neck to throw him a glare as she walked out the door and stumbled as she collided with a dark flare of robes making an entry.

_Old books, fresh cotton, green grass_

She felt her stomach and heart sink simultaneously as memories of the previous night flooded her vision with scent verified clarity.  
She hadn't even mentally prepared herself to be in his presence until tomorrow.  
She spluttered out an apology before even seeing his face feeling her entire body heat up from sheer embarrassment.

When he didn't move away immediately she looked up to see a raised eyebrow and two dark eyes boring into her.

"If you would be so kind, Miss Granger, to remove your feet from my person."

She looked down mortified to find herself standing on the corner of his robes and almost fell over herself in the process of stepping off.  
"I trust you received your letter"  
"Yes Sir."  
"Tardiness will not be tolerated."

She felt her face burning as he billowed passed her and up to the teachers table.  
Hermione stood bonelessly in the Hall's entrance arc a short moment before collecting herself and swiftly retreating to the library praying that her face would stabilise into a more natural tone before anyone pointed out her flushed complexion.

~x~

* * *

_Thank you for reading~  
Please review v-v!_


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